


Intersection

by Anonymous



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: asscreedkinkmeme, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: From the kinkmeme prompt:"The boys have been secretly hooking up since Desmond one night confessed his feelings for Shaun.Only problem: while Shaun thinks they're behaving 'normally so the girls don't find out, Desmond can't quite differenciate between dream/fantasy and reality anymore and isn't aware that anything between him and Shaun ever really happened..."
(Set during Brotherhood time, before spoilers.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to the prompt.](https://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=10955374#cmt10955374)
> 
>  
> 
> I have to confess that I don't really like this fic (and I was mostly drunk while writing it), but since it's an indirect gift, I can't bring myself to delete it. So.

“We should stop meeting like this,” he mutters against my burning skin, gold locks tickling the side of my neck as his hands dive under my shirt to explore the small of my back, my stomach, my chest. His hands are solid and soft over skin that feels abused after a long day of getting repeatedly stabbed and sliced in the Animus; almost a bliss. 

_Stop seeking me out then_ is my line, it’s what he is waiting for, but I’m in no mood for his games tonight. Not when I can hardly hide the desperation that’s trying to take over, make me want to run as far as I can, make me want to beg for—something. More than this. He must be able to feel under his fingers the way my heart races with panic whenever he says the words, even though he can’t know that inwardly, I’m praying to every god I can think of for him to be just messing with me. No way am I letting go of the only good part of this whole losing my mind shit.

Instead of handing him the role of the aggressor and reacting to his moves, I grip his wrist to keep his hand from exploring the insides of my borrowed sweatpants and shove him against the wall. It’s another type of need that drives me to press my lips on his to stop the coming protest. I need to be in control tonight. I need to know that I can do _something_ just because _I_ want to. 

When I pull away, he looks into my eyes for a moment, gaze as hard and calculating as ever. It makes me feel exposed, the way he seems to understand what’s going on in my brain, what’s happening to me, what I need. That’s also why it’s so painful to realize, over and over again, that he’s never been able to. 

He wraps his arms around me and turns us around, pinning me into the wall with only a glint in his eyes to reveal just how much he enjoys this, the rest of his face stoic as ever. With such a simple move, he’s taken the one thing I needed to keep my head over water tonight. Can I resent him for it? I do. I resent that this is just a game for him, a challenge he has to win; that he revels in the way I shiver when his hand does sneak into my boxers not because he likes making my body sing, but because he likes getting the upper hand. That he knows nothing about setting my heart on fire just by whispering my name in a breath he shares with me, only every inch of my body. The taste of my lips. The curve of my ass. He doesn't know how much I want to make love to him. This is not the Shaun I confessed it to; we left him back at the warehouse. This is a new Shaun with harder hips and a meaner tongue that moves in my mouth like he owns it.

I bite his lower lip hard and use the distraction to change places once again. My fingers are quick and skilled as I find and open the buckle, shove his pants down and out of our way. He doesn't look as smug with trousers pooled around his ankles. Grinding on my thigh is more important than stepping out of them, it seems. I agree.

He doesn't fight to get the control back and I stop fighting to keep it. The object of my focus is the hardness between his legs, and I let him know by sliding down his body and ghosting my lips over the bulge, mouthing it over the thin cloth, nipping when I can get away with it. The hiss he lets out brings a grin to my lips.

I get rid of his underwear in a fluid motion and take the head in my mouth. He releases another hiss when I swirl my tongue around it and start sucking gently. Hell, I could get high on his smell, the blush that runs up his cheeks, the little sounds he tries to bite back, getting louder every time I flick the tip of my tongue over his slit and lick just below his head. It's not enough for either of us; I need to taste him at the back of my throat and he needs me to touch the rest of him. He is not desperate enough, though. His stubborn refusal to admit his want is only shaky; a far cry from losing it enough to grip my hair and trying to keep himself from pressing my face on his hard-on for friction. 

I grip the base of his cock and take in as much of him as I safely can twice before pulling back until I’ve got only an inch of his shaft in my mouth, my rough hand moving up and down the rest. “Tease,” he breathes, tone strained, lips parted. His hips twitch under my hold to thrust into my mouth, begging without words for more. My own hips twitch as well; my erection still trapped under my clothes, making me dizzy and uncoordinated, demanding attention. Later. He just might return the favor. 

I look up to meet his heated eyes watching me. He looks away almost immediately. Just like that, all my will to linger it, maybe get a breath of praise out of his lips disappears. What the fuck so disgusting about me that he can’t stand to see my face even when he has his dick in my mouth? 

Christ, I ruin a blowjob for myself even in my own fantasies. I take a deep breath through my nose and try to keep my focus on the salty taste on my tongue and the wrinkled hem of his shirt sticking out from under his sweater as I take him deeper in, but his hoarse groans are right on the edge of my hearing, sending jolts straight to my dick, making me wish one of those curses were followed by my name. If only I’d picked up how to push my feelings away from Altair when I’ve had the chance. 

He grips my head and gently pushes my head down, letting me move at my own pace while making sure there’s still progress. He lifts the pressure before it gets uncomfortable and just rests his hand there as I continue to suck him in, one hand still on his hips, the other running all over his balls, his thighs, his waist, his ass. He tilts his head to stare at the ceiling and takes deep breaths. He must be counting dead emperors again. He's not allowed to think of other men when he is with me, doesn't he know this?

I graze my teeth over his dick only enough to get his attention and use the hand on his hip to pull him forward. I grab his cheeks to steady myself when he starts thrusting into my mouth, hand tight in how much of my short hair he can find purchase, murmuring all kinds of nasty things that I want to answer with yes, please. I swallow around his head and his moan gets two tones louder, almost enough to wake the girls. “Where did you learn to do _that_ , novice?”

I delay my satisfied smirk until he comes in my mouth with my name a prayer on his lips.

He doesn't return the favor; I come watching him as he wiggles into his clothes. He is gone before I come down from my high. Still, I can’t keep myself from listening for the footsteps that don't exist before crawling into my sleeping bag. I'm exhausted from the day and coming just minutes ago, but I don't want to sleep yet. This is the only time I can hold onto the feeling, the phantom taste on my tongue, the lingering smell on my fingers. These will disappear in the morning, when I get up and face the reality, face the fact that the Shaun who visits me every night in my fantasies isn't the same one I watch from afar in daylight.

When I finally fall asleep, the satiation in my bones is tainted with that deep, silent, familiar agony that won't go away.

 

Of all the things that can trick me into thinking everything’s normal, the worst is the mornings. For the first time since leaving the Farm, I have a routine: waking up to the sight of empty sleeping bags, jerking off to the dream from the night before, getting cleaned up and ready for another day in Renaissance Italy. There is no sound but my footsteps as I make my way back to the Sanctuary, and the calm is disturbed by only the click-click-clicks of the keyboards. Then a horse gallops by, ruining the illusion of peace, and I jump to the side to avoid getting trampled with heart beating in my throat. The look Lucy gives me catches my eye and I grab the hands of the nearest person on pure instinct. I make sure to put on my most playful smile as we start dancing to a tune no one hears, the fact that I can’t remember the name of the black-haired techie I’m dancing with safely hidden behind it. The only thing I can come up with is the wrong one. I know, because they cringed and eyed each other when I called her that.

Lucy shakes her head and returns to her work, her momentary suspicion forgotten. They’re all too ready to ignore the obvious, quick to chalk up the weird things I do to blowing off steam as long as I don't smirk like Ezio or stalk like Altair, or start talking in an entirely different language. I’m safe once again. 

I get distracted in my relief and take a step in the wrong direction, tripping over my own feet and nearly pulling both of us to the floor.

“Careful, Desmond; we wouldn't want you to lose the few brain cells you might still have,” Shaun retorts from his spot, hands not stopping in their movement. I press my lips into a line and flip him the bird, which gets only a sneer as a reply, but for a second there, right before he turns back to his screen, I could swear I saw a teasing smirk and a wink. Great; now I’m projecting my wishes onto real people in daylight. One step closer to 16.

With the joyful air gone and my cold sandwich wolfed down, there's nothing to do except get in the Animus, so get in I do. Ezio is just as good as Altaïr at closing himself off during the missions, at the thought of how horribly at ease he is with killing off guard after guard, but Cristina Missions are another matter entirely. In his body, it feels so right to hold her hip and claim her mouth, I have to force myself to not get carried away by Ezio's feelings of regret and betrayal as we watch her walk away. Still, the line gets blurred once again and I find myself sitting on the cold stone and staring at the way she went, contemplating whether to follow her despite the clear request. Wondering if I could convince her to come with me — but where? Firenze is not my home anymore, nor do I have one in Venezia. Monteriggioni, where I myself visit a few times a year at most? I cannot see Cristina leaving her husband and family behind for so little. It is simply not good enough. I am not good enough.

“Desmond, are you okay?” a woman asks from somewhere too close and I jump with my sword unsheathed, eyes darting to every corner to find the owner of the ghost voice in the empty alleyway. It takes longer than it should to realize it's _Lucy_ speaking and not that woman from the Vault, the one who called me — _Ezio_ , Desmond.

“I guess.” I close my eyes to shield at least my sight from the stimulation and focus on the dim static behind the chatter. “I am now, yeah.”

“Maybe we should take a break.”

“A break?” Shaun's voice comes from somewhere close this time, like he was hovering around with Lucy. “Are you aware that if he takes a break whenever Ezio has his heart broken by an ex-lover, we'll never find the Apple?”

“I'm with Shaun on this one. We don't have much time.” Though, if asked, I would deny this decision having anything to do with my reluctance to return to reality until my last breath.

The conversation goes no further than a weak, “All right then,” from Lucy, and she can't hide the relief in her tone either. Rebecca loads another memory from the sequence and I go back to donning the skin of older Ezio with his joint aches and irritation at old man jokes coming from passersby. The pride I take in killing the banker and running away without a scratch lasts until I meet Leonardo and he leaves after saying I have all he can give. It's a lonely feeling, your oldest friend by far being short with you, but it's not fair to blame him for it; he has a lot on his plate and not enough of that vibrant energy he had when he was young. I guess I just miss having someone to talk about nothing, since the ones in the present don't really have the time or interest to chat idly either. Some days being Ezio isn't any better than being Desmond. 

A couple more memories and a few hundred dead guards later, Lucy states that's it for today and she won't listen to any protests. I get off the Animus with dread hidden under exhaustion and shuffle to my sleeping bag.

Fingers stroking my hair wake me up this time. I would open my eyes, but the scare that the fondness in the light touch might be replaced by harshness if he knows I'm awake, or worse, the possibility of opening my eyes to empty air keeps my eyes shut; instead, I keep lying there face down on my arms and bask in the secret attention. It's soothing in a parental way; it helps putting my body at ease. When I fall asleep for the second time, there are no nightmares.

I would be fine with things staying the same way forever, but they insist on getting substantially worse and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Nightmares aren't really a new thing; we're all used to waking up at the ass crack of dawn with me screaming my lungs out, but the starting point of the downhill is me not waking up by nightmares. Instead, it gives way to sleepwalking.

The first time it happens, I wake up on my hands and knees on top of Shaun's sleeping bag with unseeing eyes. It's a scary experience for both parties, and his oh so mature reaction is throwing a hissy fit and kicking me off and away from him. He acts like nothing has happened in the morning, but takes to sleeping in a corner, as far away from that hidden spot behind his huge corkboard that I occupy as possible.

Dream Shaun doesn't visit for four nights either. When he comes on the fifth day and lets me fuck him hard enough to leave an imprint on the floor, my eyes water from the longing burning my insides.

The next time is better, which just means no one witnesses it; I'm alone with the phantom Templars at the backyard, slashing my way through with my hidden blade. By the time it dawns on me that they're not dying, I'm drenched in sweat and my frantic heart doesn't calm down even after the realization. I wait until it finally does to stumble back into the room. No one notices I've been gone for hours.

 

It gets scarier with every Bleed and every nightmare, so much that I start questioning if the waking up part might be worse than staying awake, and I’m actually stupid enough to test the idea. It works pretty well for two days, until Shaun comes looking for me on the third night and finds me crouching on that ledge at the top of the Villa. To everyone’s luck, he manages to reach and pull me by the back of my hoodie before I attempt to do a Leap of Faith into a non-existent haycart. We try to catch our breaths as I lie on my back on the hard bricks and he straddles my hips with his hands on my shoulders, brown eyes behind crooked glasses wide as if he's trying to channel just how narrowly we dodged the bullet with one look.

“I wasn't going to jump,” I whisper later that night, while disinfecting and bandaging Shaun’s battered hands and knees in the secrecy of dark. He doesn’t even bother looking up from the white gauze covering his open palms, and I grip his wrists tightly to make him. “I _wasn’t_.” The force of my words is dampened by the clear desperation in my voice, however, and I can’t help wondering whom exactly I'm trying to convince.

Updating the database comes to a halt for a couple of days.

 

They take away my hidden blade when it's Rebecca who catches me hunting Templars the next time and she refuses to keep it a secret. In hindsight, it's the better call; at least the risk of me confusing any of them with the enemy and slitting their throats is decreased, but I don't feel secure enough to go to sleep without it. As a result, my synch suffers enough to make Lucy consider giving it back.

“I can keep an eye on him,” Shaun suggests as an alternative solution. It surprises everyone, possibly himself too, but he plays it down like he's doing it just to get out of watch duties. No one buys it, but it's a good deal, regardless of whatever his motivation might be. As far as I gather from the looks between the girls, he doesn't reveal it even to Rebecca and the hope that maybe he finally returns my feelings and wants the excuse to be alone with me at nights blossoms in me, more so when he drags his sleeping bag next to mine and goes to sleep with a hand wrapped around my wrist. I sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks.

However, it becomes obvious shortly that all he wants is to make sure I don't hurt anyone in my sleep. Dream Shaun refusing to show up when the real one is around just adds insult to injury and while his presence keeps me from bruising my body by jumping off shit to assassinate imaginary people, my heart hurts worse than ever. No one notices that either and at this point, I stopped waiting for someone to.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m still living for the rare nights Dream Shaun visits me, and I hate myself for it. Ever since it came to a point where we couldn’t keep ignoring what it’s doing to me, the time spent in the past is shorter and staying in the present is plain painful. The only thing that helps with the nightmares is going for a late night run after seeing one, but Shaun’s presence keeps me from those too. I have to stare at the ceiling for hours until the workaholic exhausts himself enough to fall into a deep sleep to pry his hand off my wrist and slip out of my sleeping bag. My calves never looked so good.

-

Everything changes when Shaun asks, “Couldn't sleep?” one night, in the middle of another sneaking out attempt. I damn near jump out of my skin.

I shake my head, though I'm not sure if he can see it. “You neither?”

He mirrors the move. “Some air could do us good.”

This is how I find myself sitting on the floor and leaning on the wall side to side with him well after midnight. There’s something intimate in the act, an almost tangible atmosphere in the small distance between our shoulders and knees. It feels like we're in our own bubble here and nothing can touch us; even the chilly air is kept at bay. 

“It's always my name,” he murmurs at last, as he plays with his nails, moving the pads of his fingers over the edges and back. “When you talk in your sleep,” he clarifies and my heart sinks. Fuck. Didn’t know I did that. “And you seem to forget or mistake the girls for others at times, but never me. Claudia, Maria, Rosa, Cristina—but _Shaun_.”

My heart beats the insides of my chest, hard enough that I feel the need to pull my knees closer to my torso in a foolish attempt to keep it inside. The expectant silence between us speaks volumes. I don’t have an answer to his unasked question, though; not one I can give so easily. I have no idea what he wants to hear. What if I pour my heart out only to get rejected? What if I say something wrong and push him away forever?

He makes a _hmph_ sound at my noncommittal hesitance and presses on. “You know, when you said you liked me, I thought you were taking the piss out of me, or, just—didn't mean it.” He huffs out a bitter laugh. “I must say, I fell for it enough times to not believe you could be sincere.” He takes his lower lip into his mouth and grazes his teeth over it once before releasing. “I still don't know if you were.”

More than his words, it’s the strain under his casual tone that makes me say _to hell with it_.

“I was.” My tone is no higher than his husk. “I am.”

In the brief moment between him turning to look at me in the eye and a smile starting to form on his lips, the most sincere expression I've ever seen on his face, I feel my hope, regret, bitterness and happiness replace each other in quick succession until they decide on a nervous mix of all. “Good. So am I.” The words are hushed, but he might as well be shouting from the way they startle me. He leans on to put a brief kiss on my lips. My brain couldn't catch up with what's happening enough to respond, but it doesn't look like he minds. “We should get some sleep. It's going to be a long day.”

No one moves. The silence isn't awkward, though. If anything, it gives me time to shed my shock and think about my next sentence.

“Could you do me a favor?” It's my turn to look at anywhere but him. “Could you say or, I don't know, do something tomorrow to prove that this actually happened?” He tilts his head in a questioning manner and I lick my lips as I try to find the right words. Shit, this is even harder to confess. “The thing is, I—I can't always differentiate between what’s real and what's—not, all right? I don't want to wake up in the morning and think tonight was all in my head.”

Shaun stares at me for a long time and nods slowly, like this explains a lot of things. It probably does.

We don’t sleep that night. Instead, we keep sitting on the cold ground and compare memories. He has an outstanding one.

“The night you cooked pasta, did we do it on the Animus?”

“We did,” he confirms. “Twice, in fact; once on the Animus and once on Rebecca’s desk.”

I pause to let that sink in. I was pretty sure the second part was just fantasy. “And the one behind the crates? With that… y’know.”

“That, uh—fantasy.” A blush creeps up on his face. “Mine too, actually. Too bad we left before we could try that.”

My face feels like it’s on fire too, though it has more to do with the question I’m about to ask than _that_. “Back in the warehouse, have you ever come into my room just to kiss me?”

The soft smile is back on his lips. I love his wicked smirks, but there’s something about this look that I can’t get enough of. “Many nights and some days.”

He says something about getting back before dawn and puts a hand down to stand up, then reaches for my hand. I take it to stand up, but he doesn’t let go of my hand when I’m on my feet and uses it to pull me close instead. We share a long kiss before getting back inside and in our sleeping bags, hand in hand.

 

When I wake up, my hand is on his empty sleeping bag. It’s not just dread but downright fear that keeps me chained to my sleeping bag this time. I don’t want to get up only to find that it was a vivid dream and Shaun won’t even look my way. It’s almost scarier than the possibility of bumping into Claudia while roaming the half-crushed halls. For a while, I only lie there and count my deep breaths.

At the end, I have to. Shaun and Rebecca aren’t on his spots; I bid Lucy a good morning and all but run from the Sanctuary, citing something about nightmares and fresh air. I’m gone before she can hand me the headset and stick me with a time limit.

The list of what I can do outside in daylight without tipping off potential enemies is pretty short, however, and I have to get back eventually. I delay the inevitable by making a trip to the makeshift bathroom and grabbing my sandwich from the mini fridge and return to the Sanctuary with a shuffle. Everyone is in their respective workplaces this time. Shaun doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. My stomach drops. I am such a fool. What did I expect anyway? It would’ve been too much like a miracle if last night has really happened. Those things don’t happen to me. 

I walk to the middle of the room with a tightness in my throat, even more eager than usual to leave myself behind. All I want is get to a place where I won’t have to stare at his back; the past works as well as anywhere. 

“Don’t I get a morning kiss first?” comes from my back just as I’m about to drop my weight onto the Animus. 

Lucy chokes on her coffee, followed by a weird half-cry from Rebecca’s desk. “ _Morning kiss_?”

When I can finally swallow and tentatively turn to him, still not entirely certain I’ve heard right, his eyes are trained on me and only me. “I’m waiting.”

I close the distance in a giddy daze. The glint is back in his eyes as he pulls me between his legs to cover my lips in front of everyone. It’s a chaste but memorable kiss and ends way sooner than I’d like it to. He gives me a small smile and returns to the book he was thumbing through after we separate. It stings at first, the way he dismisses me casually, like this was an ordinary part of his routine that he’s done and left behind to attend to the next step. It’s only after I turn to get to the Animus and see the girls gawk that I realize what exactly he’s done for me. A warm sense of gratitude fills me.

I’m not as eager to get into the Animus anymore. Instead, I take my sandwich out of the mini fridge and pull up a chair next to Shaun’s desk. He rolls his eyes and starts spitting his usual venom about lazy people and things to do, but his insults don’t really sting when I can see his grin as he delivers his lines.

When it’s time to lie down on the Animus and become one with Ezio, I’m looking forward to coming back to the real world.

**Author's Note:**

>  **January 16th, 2017:** So, finally properly edited. I'm still not proud of it, I'll come back to edit it a hundred times more for all I know; but it feels done enough at the moment. I'll see.


End file.
